Helen saw that she had not succeeded in deceiving him, but was determined that he should discover as little as possible. “I don’t believe Florence is just the right atmosphere for me,” she began. “I did not notice at first how much more every one here knows about everything than I do, and it makes me feel uncomfortable. That is what I meant. Of course one expects this supreme knowledge in a man like Cerini, but even those Florentines whom one meets casually at receptions such as this are as well informed on literature and art and music as those whom we consider experts at home.”
“This lack of knowledge on your part does not seem to interfere any with their admiration for you,” insisted Emory. “If Jack took the trouble to see how much attention you received he might have a little less interest in that precious work of his.”
“You must not speak like that, Phil,” Helen protested. “Jack is doing something which neither you nor I can appreciate, but that is our own fault and not his. I only wish I could understand it. Every one says that his book will make him famous, and then we all shall be proud of him—even prouder than we are now.”
Emory rose impatiently. “You are quite right, Helen,—I certainly don’t appreciate it, under the circumstances; but I shall put my foot in this even worse than I did yesterday with Miss Thayer, so I suggest that we change the subject. Come, let us see what is going on down-stairs.”
Uncle Peabody met them in the court. “I was coming after you,” he said by way of explanation. “Tesso has just left, and we also must make our adieux. Would you mind taking Mr. Emory and me to the Florence Club, Helen, on the way home? He might like to see it.”
Their appearance in the hall was a signal for the unattached men again to surround Helen with protestations of regret that she had absented herself from the reception-room, and Emory watched the episode with grim satisfaction. Uncle Peabody appeared to take no notice of anything except his responsibility, and gradually guided the party to where their host and hostess were standing, and then out to the automobile. An invigorating run down the hill, past the walls which shut out all but the luxuriant verdure of the high cypresses, alternating with the olive and lemon trees, and through the town, brought them to the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, where the car paused for a moment to allow the men to alight. Then, after brief farewells, Helen continued her ride alone to Settignano.
Uncle Peabody led the way up the stairs to a small room leading off from the main parlor of the club. Producing some cigars, he motioned to Emory to make himself comfortable at one end of a great leather-covered divan, while he drew up a chair for himself.
“I brought you here for a definite purpose,” he announced as soon as the preliminaries were arranged.
“I think I can divine the purpose,” replied Emory, striking a match and lighting his cigar.
Uncle Peabody looked at his companion inquiringly.